Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: My pilot is an old man! Can someone please help me?

Chapter 1: My pilot is an old man! Can someone please help me?

 

I was reborn in hell.

 

That morning, I was riding the Tobu Tojo Line to the bio-venture company where I work. Even though it was only eight o’clock, the midsummer sun was shining brightly, making the world glow white. According to the weather forecast, the temperature will rise to 32 degrees today. Fuji was rising in the distance under a bright blue sky.

 

I heard an announcement that we would soon be moving to Wako-shi Station. This was the station where I would transfer to the Yurakucho Line. A large man standing next to me was sweating profusely as he approached the door.

 

The brakes were applied and the train shook.

 

At that moment, I was standing on a snowfield.

 

A fierce blizzard is enveloping the area. The wind is blowing back, hurling snow at me from above and below.

 

It was dark. The clear sky that had been there a moment ago was now replaced by black and gray clouds.

 

The buildings and residential areas have disappeared, leaving an endless plain of snow and frigid rocky mountains.

 

What happened?

 

I’ll be late for this.

 

I laughed at myself for being such a corporate slave, but at that moment, the first thing that came to mind was the conference I had first thing in the morning. I had to present a proposal for a new reproductive medicine product that I had spent a week working on to the executive director and the general manager.

 

As I reached into my pocket to pull out my phone, I was met with further confusion.

 

I can’t move my body. It’s more than just being tied up. I can’t move a single finger.

 

In spite of my best efforts, I can’t even make it twitch.

 

The word “spinal cord injury” crossed my mind, but I could still feel everything from the neck down. However, when I turned my attention back to it again, I found that the usual feeling of the fabric against my skin was strange. I was supposed to be wearing a comfortable shirt and pants set from Uniqlo, but I could feel something like a rubber membrane sticking to me. It also covers all of my body, from my fingertips to the tip of my head.

 

What is going on?

 

It’s too real to be a bad dream.

 

The strangeness of the situation began to sink in, and I screamed. No, I tried to scream.

 

In fact, neither my mouth nor my tongue moved.

 

The skies lit up and thunder rumbled.

 

I shivered to my core.

 

Anyway, I had to move somehow. If I were to stay in this blizzard, I would freeze to death in a heartbeat. I don’t feel cold at the moment, but that might be because my body temperature is low. Body temperature comes from the difference between the outside temperature and the body temperature. If the outside temperature and your body temperature are close together, you feel hot, and if they are far apart, you feel cold.

 

Judging from the scene in front of me, I can’t imagine the outside temperature going above zero degrees. What would my body temperature be, twenty degrees, thirty degrees?

 

Move your feet, move, move, move! Move, move, move!

 

As I thought about it, my feet, hands, and body suddenly moved.

 

I spun around.

 

Yes! However, I had no intention of doing so.

 

It was an unexplainable sensation that had overtaken me.

 

Now, my limbs have moved, and it was certainly of my own volition.

 

The problem is my intention.

 

I wasn’t thinking about turning around. What I was trying to do was to move my legs. Suddenly, a part of my consciousness moved my entire body.

 

It’s as if my consciousness has been split into two. The consciousness that listens to me and the consciousness that doesn’t listen to me.

 

As soon as I wondered what this was all about, I was given the answer.

 

There is another person in me.

 

There is no such thing as a dual personality. Something completely different from me is sharing my consciousness and this body with me. No, it is not shared. It is someone else, not me, who is moving this body at will. As I focused my awareness, I could feel the other person’s presence in more detail.

 

A man. His name is Dostoev and he is 38 years old. He is a strong man, 185cm tall and 95kg in weight. He is the captain of the defense force that protects the city. He lost his right eye in a battle a long time ago, and his opponents call him “One-Eyed” and are afraid of him.

 

I did not have a conversation with Dostoev, nor did I see him visually.

 

It was just his superficial memories and thoughts flowing in from the surface of my consciousness.

 

His thoughts were not in “Japanese”. It wasn’t English, French, or Chinese. It was in a language I did not know at all. Nevertheless, I could understand it. It felt like a foreign language, but it also felt like a language I had been familiar with for a long time.

 

Of course, in Dostoev’s language, there is no unit of length called a centimeter. He perceived his height as 2.9 Rimel; 185 centimeters is what I subconsciously perceived by replacing it with the metric system.

 

Awesome thinking speed!

 

I used to use a calculator even to add two digits!

 

Have I become a genius?

 

Speaking of which, my head has been spinning strangely since a while ago.

 

There was more to marvel at.

 

He was inside me.

 

Not in my mind.

 

He is literally sitting inside my rib cage. To be precise, some of my ribs are misshapen and stick out in front of me like a bird’s beak. There was a chair that looked like the cockpit of a fighter plane, and he sat in it.

 

I’m 5’9; there’s no way a 6’5 person could fit inside. Is he a dwarf or something?

 

The answer was “standing” in front of me.

 

Right in front of me, there was a warrior wearing a suit of armor.

 

His entire body is covered in gray armor, and not a single part of his bare skin is exposed. The joints are well guarded with fine plate and chain mail. In his hands, he holds a circular shield and an axe.

 

He’s no ordinary person.

 

First of all, the length of the hand is clearly abnormal. It is at least twice the size of what one would consider a normal human arm.

 

I wondered if his body was unusually heavy, and if the snow surface that his feet stepped on was heavily pitted.

 

Most importantly, his body movements were amazing. He was as awkward as a robot or a tin doll. Were all his joints rusty? He approached step by step, wobbling and shaking.

 

I’m only about 20 steps away.

 

The other party took another step forward. A small object like a grain of bean was moving at his feet. My uncanny eyes could see the two ears on top of its pea-sized head.

 

Is it a rabbit? No, it’s a thermostatic animal that looks exactly like a rabbit.

 

I was shocked an unknown number of times.

 

That thing, which looks about the size of a pea, can’t be a thermostatic animal. It is much smaller than a laboratory mouse fetus. Even in its mother’s womb, it should be larger than that.

 

Dostoev is one hundred and eighty-five centimeters tall, and he is sitting inside me.

 

The answer is obvious.

 

It is me. I’m incredibly big.

 

It is probably twenty to twenty-five meters in height.

 

I could be described as a huge biological humanoid weapon.

 

The enemy in front of me moved even closer and gave the axe a slow horizontal stroke.

 

What a sluggish move.

 

You can easily avoid such things by taking a few steps back.

 

But it wouldn’t move.

 

The pilot, Dostoev, was a slow thinker. Despite the urgency of the situation, my body began to move sideways with the slowness of a sloth.

 

The blade closed in on me.

 

Move! Body! Move it!

 

Dostoev is desperately trying to move his body to avoid being hit. But it’s not his body that’s moving, it’s mine.

 

The blade is already right under our noses.

 

Dostoev yelled from the cockpit.

 

You stupid bastard! I shouted in my mind. I am not even going to eat the blade!

 

The blade blew off the armor on my side and ripped through my flesh.

 

The pain popped after the heat, as if an iron had been pressed against it.

 

If my mouth had been open, I might have screamed.

 

It barely saved my life.

 

The blade rebounded against the bone in my abdomen, but not enough to damage my internal organs.

 

Believe it or not, I have a bone in my body that I can call the abdominal bone, along with one of my abdominal muscles.

 

Dostoev shouted, “I got you!” and the sword in his hand swung. But my body moves as if such pain doesn’t exist. I move as Dostoev wills.

 

That bastard. Dostoev was not feeling any pain. Apparently, no thoughts or sensations were flowing from me to him. Or perhaps I should say that it was dammed up in the process.

 

My sword dug into his neck and cut it off in one fell swoop.